Being Moved
by Rosa Cotton
Summary: Peter is up to something. If he isn’t, why then had he – with his cocky, secretive grin in place – burst into the house, told Wendy to drop everything and come with him, and, after blindfolding her, is currently leading her through the jungle?


Disclaimer: _Peter Pan_, all characters, places, and related terms belong to J.M. Barrie. The plot belongs to little ol' me.

Author's Note: This came to me just yesterday, and I wrote it right away. This is a one-shot. Oh, if only the writing of certain chapters would come so easily and quickly! Feedback is welcomed.

Being Moved

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"Peter!" Wendy exclaims a bit breathlessly, clinging to his hand, stumbling after him. "Where are we going?"

Peter's only response is to laugh merrily.

"Do I really need to wear this blindfold?"

"But of course!" Peter answers. "If I let you take it off, the surprise would be spoiled!"

"Surprise?" Wendy echoes. She tries to break free from Peter's grasp, but he tightens his hold on her hand and tugs her insistently along. "I don't have time for your games, Peter. I should be at the house, cooking supper. The boys will be coming back soon. And you – oh!"

Tripping over a root, Wendy blindly puts her arms forward to cushion her fall. She crashes into something hard and warm – which in turn goes, "Oof!" Arms wrap around her.

"Got you," Peter's voice reassures her cheerfully.

Color races to Wendy's face as she realizes she has collided into Peter's chest. She quickly straightens, nearly banging her head into Peter's chin as she regains her footing. She reaches for the blindfold; Peter gently slaps her hands away.

"Peter…" Wendy says wearily.

"Not much farther," Peter says, easily reclaiming her hand. "You do not have to worry about the boys," he adds, leading her again. "They are spending the night at the Indian village."

Wendy is silent, digesting this information. Now that she has given up the fight, and allows Peter to guide her along, curiosity is building up in her as she wonders what Peter is up to.

"Ah, here we are," Peter announces, coming to a halt, causing Wendy to bump into him slightly.

Before Wendy can do or say anything, the blindfold is removed from her eyes, and she blinks her eyes rapidly, adjusting to the waning daylight. She and Peter are on a little hill atop a vast cliff. Before them is the calm blue sea, alighted with golden red colors as the sun slowly sets behind it. Wendy gasps at the breathtaking sight. It is several moments later she takes in the rest of their settings and discovers before them a blanket covered with enough food to feed at least ten people Wendy thinks – roasted duck, rabbit stew, salads made of lettuce, radish, tomatoes, mushrooms, and onions, corn on the cob, carrots, bananas, apples.

Caught between confusion and wonder, Wendy turns to Peter who watches her closely. "Peter, what is all this?" she asks quietly.

"Well," Peter waits until they are seated and she starts to eat. "Is this not what you call a…picnic?" he asks, uncertainty swimming in his eyes.

Pausing in eating her salad, Wendy gapes at him. "Picnic? This is more like a feast!"

Here Peter smiles. "Then it is your feast." Seeing her puzzlement, he continues. "You have been working awfully hard, Wendy. You have kept house, cooked, mended the boys' clothes, and cared for my injury." Subconsciously he lightly touches his shoulder – it is completely healed now; the only reminder of his wound is a faint scar.

Wendy cannot keep back a shudder as memories of those troubling times return to her: of the many sleepless nights she spent lulling Peter back to sleep, of nearly collapsing under the escalating weight of the daily chores which needed doing. Aware of the dark cloud which has descended on them, Peter gently touches Wendy's hand, drawing her attention to him.

"You should rest, take a break from all your work – you have worked yourself too much, Wendy. You deserve a quiet evening away from the noisy boys, have at meal without preparing it, get out of the house; and that is what you have." He gestures around them.

Wendy slowly returns his smile. "Thank you, Peter," she says, deeply touched. "This is wonderful. I don't know what to say," she confesses.

Peter grins. "Don't let the food get cold!"

Wendy laughs happily. And she enjoys this quiet, solitary evening with Peter, eating to her heart's content; then, sitting shoulder to shoulder with him, she watches the sun set and the stars come out, winking down at them.

THE END


End file.
